


You Stopped Writing

by memorandum



Category: Bandom, Burzum (Band), Darkthrone (Band), Real Person Fiction, Until the Light Takes Us (2008)
Genre: Black Metal, Complicated - Freeform, M/M, Male Slash, Musicians, Romance, all of this is a gift for lilith696, this turned into a chaptered story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorandum/pseuds/memorandum
Summary: For lilith696.Gylve wasn’t expecting this particular visit.
Relationships: Varg 'Count Grishnack' Vikernes/Gylve 'Fenriz' Nagell, Varg Vikernes/Gylve Nagell
Comments: 15
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilith696](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilith696/gifts).



> I wrote this for lilith696 because I love their portrayal of these two. That said, this is kind of an extension of what they established for them already—just something I saw in my head that I wanted to write. I recommend their stories before this one (they’re wonderful). So.. lilith696, I hope this meets your approval.

Gylve wasn’t expecting a visitor beyond midnight and certainly, he wasn’t expecting Varg.

Varg Vikernes released from prison.. Imagine that… Gylve keeps the door cracked, peering at the man through a mere few centimeters, enough to see his grinning face in full while denying the rest. Varg finds his surprise to be amusing and chuckles before asking, “Are you going to let me in? Or, you know… If you need to get your battle axe, I’ll wait.”

“It’s.. I just…” Gylve is speechless, really. “Varg, it’s been years.” At that, he steps aside and widens the space between them, allowing Varg to enter his home. Just like old times.

“Of course, it’s been years, I’ve been in prison!” He plays it up as a joke without a very strong punchline.

“You stopped writing.”

Jokes aside now, Varg immediately senses that Gylve isn’t taking his visit as lightly as he’d expected (or hoped). His grin wanes a bit as he watches Gylve shut the door, lean his back against it, and raise a cigarette to his lips. His hands seem unsteady as they fumble for a light and Varg nearly feels it was his mistake to bother him. “You stopped responding, Gylve,” he finally says, and the older man exhales a plume of smoke that tightly encircles them.

There are no prison walls dividing them now. No measurement of time to wait until one regains his ability to touch the other. No restrictions whatsoever. And yet, they exchange glances in hesitation of a subject that hangs imbalanced. Deliberately, Gylve doesn’t acknowledge the accusation and Varg purses his lips and looks down at his feet for a moment, arms crossing while he waits for a reply that never comes—much like Gylve’s letters.

Eventually, though, he asks, “Is it too late for coffee?” And Gylve says, “Yeah, yeah,” meaning, yes, he’d brew some coffee. He goes to the kitchen area and shuffles some things to the far side of the table, clearing a place for Varg to sit down. Soon, the rich smell of black coffee rivals Gylve’s cigarette smoke. “I was planning to go to bed soon, but it’s okay.”

“Didn’t mean to spoil your plans,” Varg says, seriously now, “Actually, I expected more from you. A hug or something? Aren’t you happy to see me? ..at all? Had I known you’d act this way, I doubt I would’ve come. I mean, if you’re just gonna stay distant and chain smoke?”

“I know what you expected, I just don’t know how to give it to you.” Gylve’s tone is sharp with defense and he repeats an earlier statement, “It’s been years since we were together like this. I’m just a little overwhelmed.” When the coffee is ready to pour, he fills two mugs he’d fetched from the cabinet and brings them both to the table. Passing one to Varg, he slides a nearby ashtray to his side and sits across from his visitor, looking at him directly now. “I’m sorry,” he says, but clarifies, “That I stopped responding to your letters. It was pretty shitty of me, I know. I just.. missed you. A lot.”

“Well, that doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Varg takes a sip of coffee and watches as Gylve remains tense through another cigarette puff. Varg is uncomfortable himself, but grins to hide the evidence. He looks a bit sarcastic, he assumes, but he continues to press. “Do you still love me?”

The question escapes his mouth like a bullet from a handgun; Gylve’s throat ripples as he swallows hard to receive it. If another moment passes, he knows he’s risking a well of tears in his eyes and like hell would he resort to that. “I never stopped,” he decides to say because it’s easier than a straight-up “yes,” obviously the truth. Awfully bold of Varg to show up at his home in the middle of the night and put him on full blast. It’s visible by his expression that he’s conflicted and a little hurt.

Varg halts his verbal assault and goes quiet when he notices. The two drink their coffee in silence, simply relishing each other’s company, oddly but it works. Varg studies Gylve’s features, comparing them to the memories of his younger days and in return, Gylve thinks he’s dismissive of Varg’s choice of facial hair (but the scar on his chin is still visible, clear as day, and he adores that). Eventually, Varg extends his hand across the table and Gylve moves to clasp it, their fingers lacing for the first time in many, many years.

Gylve wants to ask if Varg had visited anyone else. He wants to ask how big the headlines were that Varg Vikernes was released from prison without his knowing because admittedly, he hadn’t checked the recent news. He wants to ask a number of questions, except for why, exactly, he’d landed himself in prison in the first place. Those things had been discussed in letters long past until, yes, when Gylve stopped responding. And that, too, was a long time ago.

Varg breaks the silence with a voice that carries low like a rustling of autumn leaves. Strangely, it’s timed just right. “Can I see you naked?” There’s a hint of playfulness there—Of course, there is, it’s Varg—But the passing of time had wrought an emptiness that only his lover could fill. It seemed appropriate, alone, in private, with Varg’s willingness to heal the ache of Gylve’s heart. “We both need it.” It must’ve made a difference, too, because across the table, Gylve relinquishes his hand and crushes out his cigarette with his other.

Gylve doesn’t object. He appears indifferent but Varg knows he’s got him. He stands, hands in motion to remove his Bathory shirt with the cut-off sleeves, and bends a bit when his pants and remaining clothes are pushed to pool at his feet. To be vulnerable, it really is what they need and something Gylve wants, just the same. His long hair falls and settles along his chest, his eyes meeting Varg’s in search for acceptance of what he’s offering—Then and there, at no greater time and no place more perfect than the shallow end of his kitchen.

Varg’s face is flushed when he sees Gylve like that, completely nude at his request. Somehow, he manages to play it off, reaching for Gylve’s hand and making a show of looking for any new tattoos he might’ve gotten since the last time he saw him. “No guys’ names? No other boyfriends?”

“No,” Gylve confesses and smiles some because it’s endearing, “Just you.”

When Varg puts his hands on his bare hips, Gylve feels the weight of this reality, that the notorious church-burning (and far worse) Varg Vikernes is really free from his sentence and finally, he’s come home. Taking a step forward, the remaining distance between them is closed for good and finally, too, Varg embraces his lover like he did when they were younger, scattering kisses across his stomach. “I know.. it’s been years… too fucking long… but believe me when I say this, Gylve. Until I could taste you again—I would’ve waited a lifetime.”

Gylve lulls his fingertips on the slopes of Varg’s shoulders, chuckling some as he’s bathed in little kisses. “You won’t have to wait a lifetime. Maybe a few minutes, though. I wasn’t really—How can I say it?—prepared for this. I mean, I wasn’t prepared for you at all, let alone where this is going.”

“‘Where this is going?’—Are you really accusing me of just coming here to get laid?” Varg teases and Gylve’s eyes narrow as he shoves him away, stepping back. He tries to be stern, but fails (the smirk didn’t help).

“Don’t ruin the mood because mine is definitely in your favor.”

A second later, Varg is on his feet as well and Gylve is pulled into his arms where the couple share their first real kiss since they could remember. It’s intense and liberating. It breaks the wall of all composure as Gylve’s hips are tight against Varg’s and their mouths only separate for a need to breathe. Old emotions resurface at full force—nervousness, excitement, Gylve’s wondering how long he’ll last, if he’ll come by sheer anticipation alone. It’s comparable to their “first time.” They find no evidence that their love for each other had ever ceased throughout Varg’s imprisonment, letters or otherwise.

Gylve kisses Varg’s scruffy chin while his lover feathers his fingers through some of his long, brown hair, the contrast of his nakedness to Varg’s clothes providing quite the turn-on. “You’re really beautiful,” Varg tells him, “Still,” and Gylve smiles.

“Go on. To my bedroom.. or, I guess, it’s ‘ours’ now. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Gylve turns to light another cigarette, watching as a cheeky Varg disappears to the bedroom where they’ll finish what they started. He chooses to leave the mess of clothes on the floor, finding his way to the bathroom where he makes some necessary preparations and tries to process his emotions. As his cigarette burns its way out, Varg looks idly at things on Gylve’s walls in an attempt to wait without impatience. Eventually, he goes to the bedside where he undresses, comforted by the knowledge that this is where he’ll wake in the morning.

“Yeah, it’s a wreck in here. Guess I haven’t outgrown that.”

Varg turns toward Gylve’s voice and admits, “I don’t care,” then grins a bit. “If it helps to smoke the whole box before you can accept I’m really here, I can—”

“—It’s been awhile,” Gylve snaps, cutting him short.

“Since who?”

“Since you, asshole. I don’t know how many boyfriends you had in prison, but without mine, I stayed committed to music and my other projects.” He watches as Varg moves to lie down on the bed before following there. “You were taken away from me. It hurt, but I managed. You were always enough.”

“And that’s how I felt when when I’d receive your letters. But you stopped responding, so you blocked me out of your life, like I wasn’t blocked already. I’m just asking simple questions.”

“I don’t think ‘simple’ is a word to describe our history.”—Maybe not, but Varg is gorgeous and Gylve still admires every inch of him.

Sitting beside him, he extends an arm to touch Varg’s chest, slowly brushing his palm beneath his navel where his cock lies hard in anticipation. He eases down to kiss along its length and feels Varg collecting his hair to one side so he could see it happening. Through Gylve’s touch alone, it was clear that he loved him, and kiss after kiss, that love was revived with need and desire that it was—and had always been—Varg and no other.


	2. For now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s lilith696’s birthday today! This is another gift for them to celebrate. Happy birthday, lovely!

Varg wakes up to find Gylve isn’t beside him. He stretches some and considers going back to sleep. He’s comfortable and warm, but without Gylve, he decides he shouldn’t be lazy.

The second he leaves the bedroom, he isn’t surprised to smell cigarette smoke. It’s almost like the scene from the night before—Gylve’s sitting at the kitchen table, underneath a cloud of smoke (he is clothed, however, in pajama pants and an old tee-shirt). Varg also feels he isn’t as warm as he was back in bed. It’s actually a bit chilly, but he isn’t fully dressed either.

Gylve comments on that. “You could’ve worn something of mine. Sorry, I didn’t exactly offer yet.”

“It’s okay,” Varg puts his arms above his head for another stretch that tightens his voice at first, “I like when you blush.”

“Oh. I’m blushing?” Yes, he is. “Well… seeing you naked, I guess it’s happening naturally.”

Varg is so amused. He considers sitting down but Gylve adds, “It’s earlier than you think.”

“Are you ushering me back to bed?”

Gylve kills his cigarette & stands from the table. “Yes. Because that’s where I’m going. I got up to call out of work. Remember that day job I had?—Still got it.”

“Not surprised. It seems you really commit yourself to something for the long haul.”

Gylve passes Varg nonchalantly as the comment was practically gift-wrapped. “Yes, Varg. When I commit to something—or someone—it’s for the long haul. But you spent a lot of time in prison and I’m still a little shocked to have you back so suddenly. It’ll take some getting used to.”

Oddly, Varg is the first to return to the bed and he’s more than happy to feel the warmth of the covers again. “What’s all this?” He pinches Gylve’s shirt and pajama pants, rousing a scoff from his boyfriend.

“I’m calling it an ‘intermission.’ Did you hear a word I said?”

Varg’s tone gets a little sharp. “Yeah, and frankly, I’m wondering why it’s such a big surprise when you also tell me how you’ve waited for me the whole time. What exactly were you waiting for if this isn’t what you expected? Is something wrong? Am I not the same?”

“—What? No!” Gylve settles into bed where one of his legs is thrown over Varg’s middle. Varg holds him and it’s in good timing as he feels he especially needs it. “I think you’re misunderstanding. Or maybe I just sound like an asshole—That’s probably it.” He gives Varg a few tiny kisses to justify himself. “You’ve changed as much as you haven’t. Same with me, I’ve changed, too. But this isn’t just my life anymore—It’s ours—and that’s what I meant, or tried to say, at least. This isn’t my bed anymore, it’s yours, too. You get it?”

“Oh, I see.” Varg does feel that everything is right now that he’s exactly where he’s at, in bed with Gylve. “Kinda glad you’re not going to work today. I’d like to hear more about the things you’ve done over the years.”

“And I’d like to hear more of your stories from prison. You did live there, I know you have things to talk about.”

“Yeah, plenty.” Varg grinned wryly, “You could’ve known about them already but you—”

“—Stopped writing. Okay, now you’re just beating a dead horse. Heads up, though: I’m taking you hiking today. I’m dragging you out to the woods to do terrible things to you—Just let me say that before you do. So rest up.”

Varg laughs because he isn’t sure if that’s a “threat” or what, but Gylve laughs with him and that’s enough. “I’ve missed hearing you laugh,” he says, accepting more of Gylve’s kisses, and that’s enough, too. For now.


	3. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s what happens when you truly love something.”
> 
> Gylve and Varg point fingers at each other, then at themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn’t clear already, you should definitely read lilith696’s stories for these two. They’re perfect. They will make you happy.

“Do you smoke when you’re at work, on the clock?”

With a cigarette hanging from his lips, Gylve ignores the question and kneels by the couch to continue packing the bag he’s taking for the hike.

“In vehicles? …on the toilet?”

“Varg.”

“In the shower?”

“You know what? They got it all wrong, man—It was actually me who burned the churches when we were younger. You’re right. Me, just minding my own business, having a smoke… but the second I flicked it on the ground, there they went, up in flames. Happened every time, every fucking one.”

“Someone call the authorities!” Varg shrieks, then laughs, slumping back on the other end of the couch. “You fire hazard, don’t tell me you’re taking cigarettes into the woods?”

After Gylve secures his bag, he adds a water bottle to Varg’s. “I am, yes. But I’ll keep it to a minimum.”

“Good, because we probably shouldn’t set the woods on fire, not while I’m still a freshly-freed individual at least. Plus, I need the coverage for when I stab you twenty-three times.” When Gylve looks at Varg with a perked eyebrow, he gives the most cheesy smirk and adds, “With my dick,” which could be a clever joke if Gylve laughs…

—He doesn’t, though. Actually, it seems to get a reaction Varg isn’t expecting. “Why did you have to do all that shit, Varg?” It’s been weighing on his mind (and heart) how he’s missed Varg for years and having him back has incited memories of pain and pining for him. There is no room for jokes, clever or otherwise. Gylve loved how they used to be when they were younger. Then one day, his boyfriend just.. wasn’t there…

Varg is a bit offended, admittedly, and levels the field. “Why did you lie to the cameras for that documentary?”

“What? …I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gylve is genuinely confused. He stands up, facing Varg to show his sincerity. “What lie did I tell?”

“You told them I didn’t like the music you tried to send me and we went our separate ways.” Varg’s tone is clear and cutting as Gylve stands accused.

“You can call it a lie if you want, but I didn’t know what else to say. How was I supposed to explain ‘us’ when the subject turned away from black metal and started to get personal? I know you, of all people, could see I was full of anxiety in that footage. My boyfriend was locked away and I was getting drilled about it. And it didn’t just happen for that documentary, I got drilled all the fucking time, answering ignorant questions. That’s our business, not everyone else’s, and I wasn’t about to let anyone invade our privacy even if you were behind bars.”

Gylve goes on to the kitchen because he feels he’s forgotten a few things for their bags. That, and he’s trying to buy himself some time to consider something more to say. Of course, Varg has followed him; he hears his footsteps. He opens one of the cabinets but fails to really see the contents inside as his mind isn’t focused there. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to explode like this. These are thoughts I’ve had for well over a decade, not necessarily directed at you. Just at the circumstances I’ve carried without you.”

Varg steps up to Gylve from behind. He raises a hand to collect his hair from one side and slowly moves it to the other. As Gylve feels Varg’s kisses on the back of his neck, emotions further ignite in his heart and suddenly, he’s desperate for him. He knows this must’ve been the reaction Varg was anticipating when he’d first arrived at his door and it seems appropriate that finally, he gets it.

But really, Gylve’s guard has fallen down, back to a time when he was young and had never kissed a guy before—then, he kissed the one with the scar on his chin. He remembers when Varg would kiss him just like he’s doing now, on the back of his neck, easing down below his ear, driving him absolutely wild. Gylve turns to meet Varg’s mouth with kisses of his own, clumsy, but intense and needy. “Don’t leave me again,” he pleads between them, “Don’t do anything else that causes me to lose you. And if you commit cold-blooded murder again, it had better be me, because I won’t go without—”

“—Gylve, stop.” Varg catches his wrist and takes that damn cigarette out of his hand before he ends up burning himself. “Stop.” He drops it into the sink just to do away with it, then clasps Gylve’s face where their eyes meet directly. “I love you,” he says and it doesn’t seem like it’s enough so he says it again, softer now, “I love you.”

Varg might’ve fucked up more than once, but he never gave Gylve a reason to doubt that he loved him. So.. Gylve still believes him. He smiles some to show it, even though his expression is bittersweet. “I miss your long hair,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend who does the same. “And I don’t know about this beard-thing you’ve grown either. Are you going for some kind of Viking look?”

Varg chuckles. “Aw, can’t you give it a chance? You haven’t felt it on your thighs yet.” 

“Maybe I can—If you do end up stabbing me twenty-three times with your dick.” Gylve makes the best grin he can manage. “But I also get to smoke a cigarette while you’re doing it, so I guess you can add that to the list of all the places I’d light one.”

“Hmm,” Varg pretends to think it over while letting his hands fall to Gylve’s hips, “Don’t mind if I do?”

Gylve prepares for what he knows is coming—He’s hoisted up to sit on one of the counters with Varg standing between his knees. He finds his presence so comforting, he can’t help but lull his fingers through his hair. “Do you remember when you said I was an entirely different world for you? ..where you fit in and don’t have to fight as hard?”

“Of course, I remember,” Varg replied, “Because it’s true, it’s still true. Prison was psychological warfare at times, but that was the one constant truth. One time, I guess I’d said too much—You know how I am when I’m passionate about something—And when someone else’s hands are crushing your means to breathe, I just… yeah, I was running on adrenaline and chaos shortly after that, when I made a break for freedom. I just wanted to get back to you, and I didn’t care how I did it or at what cost.”

“I heard about that,” Gylve comments, “Reckless and stupid, Varg Vikernes. But I knew when it happened, it made sense to you somehow and I.. didn’t think much of it. I mean, I admit.. I just thought… ‘Despite all the odds, he’s gonna be okay.’”

“That’s what happens when you truly love something.”

Gylve isn’t sure if Varg’s statement is meant to justify his behavior or both of theirs, but it works beautifully. Just like he’s said, however, it’s an absolute truth in its own way. “I would’ve been devastated had someone killed you,” Gylve tells him and it hurts to even think about the subject at very literal hands. Softly, he cups his palms around Varg’s throat where his fingers caress, drawing back. He means to soothe and he does.

Varg shrugs, then. “Well. You don’t have to worry about that. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Gylve says, “I’ve waited a long time for it. And I’m not letting it go.”


	4. Real Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sounds like a heartbeat to me.”
> 
> It might’ve been a shabby recording but it was also the real thing when it mattered most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was purely created from the inspiration that came to me from lilith696’s “Gorgeous Idiot” story. As I’ve stated thus far, I recommend you read their stories first or at least alongside this one. If it wasn’t for that author’s portrayal of this pairing, I wouldn’t be posting here. Makes me happy.

Varg had some genuinely fond memories of Helvete, especially one in particular.

Having the cellar of the place to himself was a thrill on its own, but when he could convince Gylve to stay the night, Varg couldn’t have been happier.

The memory hadn’t faded in the slightest: “Hey,” Gylve said, grinning brightly from behind a drumset, “Do that thing with your hair again.”

“Like it was on the newspaper?”

“Yeah, like that!”

Varg was already flattered that his boyfriend was wearing a Burzum shirt, let alone that he was willing to help him record something he had in mind. He’d been vague about explaining it, but knew it would be perfect none the less—especially with Gylve playing the part. In return, he didn’t at all mind the request and for that, he tilted his head, shifting his hair where most of his face was hidden behind it.

Gylve grinned so much, he blushed right along with it. “That’s so damn hot.”

Varg settled into the floor to sit cross-legged right beside him and felt he’d indulge Gylve by maintaining the “look” throughout the whole ordeal. Holding a small cassette recorder in his lap, he pressed a button to begin recording. “Okay,” he said, getting serious, “So this doesn’t need anything except the bass. I need this to sound like.. th-thump.. th-thump.. th-thump…”

Gylve joined in, hitting the bass drum in time with Varg’s direction. The simplicity surprised him admittedly, but he carried on for a few minutes after Varg went silent to listen.

“Sounds like a heartbeat to me,” Gylve commented.

“Yeah, that’s… kinda what I’m going for.”

“Really? What are you gonna use this with?”

Varg shrugged and his hair fell away from his face as he smiled up at Gylve. “Nothing. I just wanted you to play it for me. It’s your heartbeat now, you know? Like you said? May be a little cheesy, but still.”

The idea had been significant enough but later, when Varg labeled the cassette as “Home,” he couldn’t have imagined how valuable that shabby recording would be in his future.

*****

“Okay, Vikernes. Sit down.”

Varg went to sit in a chair, surrounded by smirky prison guards and a man with scissors.

“In two minutes, you’ll officially be welcomed to manhood. You’re not gonna look like a little girl anymore.”

Varg was insulted, of course, and livid about it, but the tears that were biting at his eyes weren’t directly caused by the situation. Rather, prior to that, the day’s mail had just been distributed to all inmates and again, Varg received no letter from Gylve. Actually, it had been months since his boyfriend had written and with no new letters, Varg wondered when or if he’d ever write again.

Varg replayed the words from Gylve’s last and seemingly final letter in his head as the scissors were put to his hair. Snip after snip, it began to fall and so, too, did a single tear. He was angry at Gylve, though desperate for him, he wasn’t about to give up on him, not for a second. Many more years would pass before Gylve could hold him like he used to and for that, Varg felt resentment toward their circumstances—but it was his own fault, not Gylve’s. Most days, his life in prison was tolerable, at least; the Norwegian prison system was a lot more plush and cozy than others around the world, so he’d heard. But he was still an inmate with a remaining sentence that would last far over a decade.

“Are you gonna cry now? Look, he’s really crying,” one of the guards blatantly pointed to Varg’s cheek and the single tear that defied him, “Maybe we made a mistake with the haircut, maybe the ‘little girl’ look was better for him.”

Another one appeared amused and added, “It’s not like you’re treated terribly in here. You know what happened to Ted Bundy in the States, when he killed all those women? He cried all the way to the electric chair. And you think this is bad?”

When they were finished with him, Varg’s lap and the surrounding floor were a mess with his own hair. He raised a hand to feel its new length, how it feathered out at his shoulders and no longer framed his face. “Clean it up and get back to your cell,” a guard said, slapping a broom and dustpan into his hands that he took without a choice.

What difference would it have made to show objection? Varg got up, and did as told.

…Later in his cell, Varg felt the psychological aftermath of the forced haircut. It was more of a shock than he’d expected it would be, but he tried to place his mind somewhere else. He had a special remedy for times like that—the cassette with the recording of Gylve’s bass drum “heartbeat.” It was one of the items he’d specifically asked his mother to mail to him, something he’d felt he needed rather than wanted. Without the real thing, it was the closest he could get to reality and it did its part. Varg would slip on his headphones and listen to it over and over. Rewind-play, rewind-play, sometimes for hours. “Sounds like a heartbeat to me,” Gylve’s enthused voice would sound on the recording and Varg just loved that. He imagined resting his head on Gylve’s chest where he could hear the real thing. That... That was home.

During the night, in the dark of his cell, Varg rewound the recording and played it, then again, and again until suddenly, he heard a scratchy, reeling sound that put a knot in the pit of his stomach.

“No! …oh, no!” Immediately, he jumped up and found his way to enough light that he could see the cassette when he opened his Walkman. A malfunction had caused the tape to snap apart and ribbon out of the cassette, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed—he’d hoped. Even though he’d gently removed the cassette from the player, the tape had twisted and snapped again from the tension, leaving Varg with the knowledge that the only heartbeat he’d be hearing was his own.

It could be fixed, he told himself again. If he were anywhere but in prison without the tools he needed, he could salvage it. But to prevent any more damage than it had already, Varg carefully handled what was left of “Home” and put it in the safest place he could find in his cell.

“Come on, Gylve.” He spoke to himself in a whisper, pained and nearly shaky. Maybe he just needed to hear it aloud. Prison could do that to a person.

*****

It’s later in the day when Gylve and Varg finally make it to the woods for the hike they’d planned. A little short on daylight time, the two agree they’ll appreciate nightfall in the hope that the sky will be clear and full of stars.

Having Varg by his side, Gylve hardly focuses on the hike itself. Even in hokey camouflage pants and a plain grey shirt, Varg is gorgeous to his eyes. “There’s this one tree in particular,” he tells him, trying to give nature a little credit, “There’s always a couple of squirrels around it. I think it’s the same two and they keep having babies.”

“Can we take a break?” Varg asks and the weight of his voice raises a little concern from the other man.

“..Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just… I mean, I’m not putting off my excitement for your squirrel family, but I just need a break.”

“Sure.”

Gylve stops at a tree with a wider trunk and slips his bag from his back. Varg does the same as he moves to sit down on the ground. It really is kind of strange—Varg started the day with crude humor and dick jokes and now, his expression and demeanor have changed. Gylve had noticed but carried on with the hike without prying for an explanation. He was concerned, though. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Varg doesn’t just sit beside Gylve, he barges into his lap. Finding it impossible to stay in a sitting position, Gylve goes with the motions, easing back to lie down, now with Varg’s head on his chest. It’s a little awkward, but neither complain.

There’s a distant sound of birds chirping and an incoming breeze rustles the trees that surround them. Beyond that, all is silent as Varg listens to Gylve’s heartbeat. It’s like it was on his old cassette tape, th-thump.. th-thump… but in real time. It’s beautiful.

“I still live here,” Varg says, “Right?”

“That’s what this is about?” Gylve locks his hands around Varg and simply holds him there. It’s very endearing, really. “Yes, Varg,” he replies, “Welcome home. Not that you ever left. But I’ll still tell you any time you need to be reminded.”


	5. Dear Varg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gylve and Varg come to terms with the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this was written as a gift for lilith696. I suggest reading their stories. What they’ve established for this pairing, I’ve kept for them. Secondly, I hope you enjoy the little temporary oc. She’s a sweet gal.

Twenty-one years, twenty-one years…

Several years into Varg’s sentence, Gylve constantly weighed the duration in his thoughts. At times, he would bargain with himself, “Maybe if (this or that) happened, he’ll get out earlier than expected.. Maybe if that gorgeous idiot just behaved…”

Sometimes Gylve said it aloud just to hear himself. Mostly, though, he carried it with him.

Keen to his memory, there was one night when the weight of Varg’s absence was especially heavy that he stopped in for a drink at a finer establishment for such things—Perhaps a step up from a “bar” but still in the genre none the less. He kept to himself, but was especially weak with heartache and vulnerable, obviously, because he was willing to chat with a kindred spirit.

Such a spirit was found in a complete stranger, a young Debbie Harry-type with a leather jacket and burgundy-colored fingernails. She took the empty stool beside him and leaned in a bit to speak over the music. “Hey, man. You okay?”

Gylve kind of blinked upon realizing how he must’ve looked, completely zoned out and, for lack of a better word, abysmal. “Me? ..yeah, yeah. I’m fine, thanks.”

She smiled some. “Buy ya a drink?”

Gylve glanced at his own glass, assuming there was nothing more than a gulp left inside—then, that was gone, too. “Sure, okay.” The girl seemed kind and hardly obnoxious, which he was willing to chance. So long as she didn’t adhere to the lousy, idolizing fan service that generally met him in bars, he felt he could possibly enjoy a conversation.

Gylve stated his request for a drink that the girl coupled with her own. “I see you know who I am,” he said, extending his arm to touch a Darkthrone pin on the lapel of her jacket.

“And you know me, too,” she replied, doing the same motion to point at a Bathory patch on his. When Gylve perked an eyebrow, she laughed and explained, “Well, my name is Elizabeth. But why not take advantage of that, right?”

Gylve laughed as well. “I guess if my name was Elizabeth, I’d go by ‘Bathory,’ too. Fair enough.”

At that point, Gylve was a little suspicious of her intentions (just in case). Their drinks were served and he lit a cigarette. “Look,” he told her straight-up, “I don’t want to give the wrong impression, I mean.. because I accepted your offer. That was kind of you, really, but I’m not available. My significant other,” he chewed his lip, trying to choose his words wisely, “Can’t exactly be here like I want.”

Bathory crinkled her nose. She might’ve had a brutally honest come-back, but her tone was soft and cheerful. “Wow, first of all, bold of you to assume I’m an Americanized groupie, just wanting to get nailed,” she mused, “Secondly, I didn’t expect you to be available, that’s certainly none of my business. It’s no one else’s either, but that’s the way I see it.”

“Ah! You must play in a band,” Gylve patted her shoulder and she grinned.

“Bassist. Thanks. Just here and there, though. Nothing to write home about.”

—Oh, yeah. That. Writing home. All it took was a flash of Varg within his mind and Gylve felt the pangs of missing him return to bite at his heart.

Bathory noticed his expression fall. “Why can’t your significant other be here with you?”

“Locked up.” Gylve assumed that reply was vague enough to satisfy his willingness to actually talk to someone about it—The fact it was a complete stranger, too, that made a difference. Close friends were often opinionated on Varg’s reputation, which they were entitled to be considering their younger days at Helvete and what eventually happened with Øystein. Meanwhile, passing acquaintances generally pissed him off by judging anything they heard from the media too harshly and acted as if they knew obscure facts they certainly did not.

“Locked up? For burning churches?”

—Bathory might’ve questioned in harmless jest as the reality was that church-burning did indeed have roots in Norway’s black metal stereotype, but Gylve was having an especially weak moment and he let the truth slip a bit further. “Something like that.”

The girl propped her elbow on the bar and rested her cheek in her palm. “Regular ol’ Varg Vikernes, is he?—or she, rather?”

“Yeah.. Something like that, too…” 

Gylve got the impression that she knew his secret. He didn’t confirm (he absolutely wouldn’t confirm), but something about the comforting vibes this stranger gave to him, he felt… safe? As soon as one cigarette was stubbed, he immediately lit another and Bathory didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t explaining anything. She wasn’t prying either. Yes, he felt safe.

“I don’t know what to do,” he finally admitted. If he scored anything at all from that conversation, he felt it should be something he truly needed. “I am so deeply in love. Half of my entire world may be empty right now, but it isn’t some kind of void that needs to be filled by anything except who and what I want. I can wait it out, however I have to.”

“Doesn’t sound like you need to do anything.” She took a drink and shrugged. “I think you’re doing everything right. You’re stronger than the next person.. Do you know how many people would’ve jumped into someone else’s bed by now?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not an option,” Gylve said sharply and Bathory looked amused, albeit proud.

“You know, they made him cut his hair. I’m sure anything he gets from you, he’d appreciate. Must be rough in prison.”

The statement went straight to Gylve’s heart; his breath hitched and his eyes fixed on nothing in particular through a flush of nerves. It wasn’t that he had definitive proof Bathory knew he’d been referring to Varg—It was what she said that actually stunned him. “He must’ve been humiliated,” Gylve eventually replied but low, very low, like in a whisper.

“That’s why I think that you’re doing everything right. Just being there for him, you know?”

Gylve shuffled around, took another drink from the one she’d bought him, but far from finished it. He moved to stand and pocketed his cigarettes. “I think I.. sorry, I gotta get going…”

Bathory only offered a benevolent smile. “I understand,” she said, “I hope your sister is okay and she gets to come home from Sweden sooner than expected.”

Gylve got it—and he believed it. That twist at the end about a bullshit sister-in-Sweden and all, it meant that his secret was safe with her. And he may never see or speak to her again, he thought as he left the bar, but her words of warmth and encouragement at a time when he most needed to hear them… what a gift.

When he got home, Gylve sat down at the table with a cigarette, of course, a pen, and a sheet of paper with an envelope that he promptly addressed. Putting the pen to the paper, he composed the start of a new letter. It was his turn to reply.

“Dear Varg,” it began.

*****

Something feels “off” and uneasy.

Gylve isn’t in the mood for jokes, but still makes a weak attempt. “I kept expecting you’d tackle me like a big bear and have your way with me.”

“Oh, that’ll probably happen in time, rest assured.”

Since they’d returned to Gylve’s home, Varg has spoken very little. They set aside the bags they’d carried for the hike, took turns to use the shower, and now, wear comfortable clothes as they’d planned to spend the evening that way. Their former arrangements to stargaze were thwarted as it was too cloudy to see much of anything. That was alright, however. The hike had definitely served its purpose.

In the kitchen, Gylve opens the refrigerator to look for something quick and easy to pass for a makeshift dinner. “Not a lot of options,” he’s a bit embarrassed to admit, “You wanna come look?”

Varg makes a motion to approach him, then pauses abruptly. His eye is caught by an envelope on top of the microwave; a few CDs are stacked around it but still, he notices. He sees enough of the handwritten address to assume it’s a letter that Gylve had meant to send to a prison in the past and because it does have his name on it, after all, Varg feels he has the right to ask about it.

“What is this?” He takes it from the other items and watches Gylve close the refrigerator door.

“It’s.. I.. I mean…” The older man is quick to take the envelope from his boyfriend’s hands as the both of them sit at the table. Tension has continued to build; Gylve isn’t sure if Varg is angry or not—He searches his face for an explanation of what he’s feeling but only finds his own doubt.

“Read it to me,” Varg says, his tone going low, “Out loud.”

Their eyes meet for a moment as pulses begin to quicken. Gylve sees the pain in Varg’s while he swallows back an urge to cry—It’s there because the letter is the last one he’d prepared to send, though years have passed and yet, it remains unsent. It’s the letter Varg had waited for, but never received. It’s the connection they could’ve continued, but lost.

Gylve’s hands fumble the backside of the envelope as he opens it to remove the actual letter inside. He unfolds it and looks at what’s written, hesitating to read it. “Dear Varg,” he begins, but a moment passes and he brings a hand to his mouth, resisting tears again. Finally, he shakes his head and turns the paper toward Varg, revealing the rest is entirely blank. 

“That’s as far as I got,” he confesses. Varg appears devastated and silently, Gylve breaks down. “I’m sorry.” He sets the letter on the table between them and brings his hands into his lap, anxiously wringing his fingers together. His hair has fallen over his face, his head has lowered. He looks ashamed and hurt by his own actions, that he could somehow be so careless. Varg had been right with something he’d recently said—If he really was the light of his life, it made no sense to have done that.

Across the table, Varg sighs, his eyes wet with his own tears. He stands, moving to take the letter and its envelope from the table, then goes to drop it in the garage can that’s stationed nearby. “Come here.” His tone isn’t jagged anymore; it’s softer now, and loving.

Gylve complies and is met with acceptance, finding himself in Varg’s embrace. With their arms around each other, their defenses fall completely. There’s no confusion anymore, no accusations, no concept of time, no pain.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” Gylve says, “I didn’t mean to. I was hurting, too. Every time I wrote to you, I felt so far away… and I guess that shows which one of us was stronger.”

“I don’t care that you stopped responding to my letters. Not now,” Varg speaks gently against Gylve’s neck, “I’m not in prison, I’m home. And I forgive you.”

Varg kisses Gylve’s forehead and motions he’s leaving the kitchen. He kisses the top of Gylve’s hand, too, before going on to the bedroom and welcomes his boyfriend upon joining him. Under low light and the soft hum of a fan, they undress each other and draw the covers down. They spend some time simply holding and kissing each other, mutually believing it was long overdue. Soon, Gylve is adorned with a trail of kisses beneath his navel and feeling Varg’s scruffy face on his thighs and his most sensitive flesh, he has to admit, maybe he’d been a bit critical too soon.

Like young gods, they hold nothing back, kiss after kiss, touch after touch. Varg straddles Gylve’s hips, taking him completely inside his own body and for a moment, Gylve can’t resist the memory of Varg’s long hair—But he isn’t at all disappointed with what he currently sees. They find each other irresistible and their sex is intense and passionate. Through desperate, loving kisses, they come for each other in time and when morning approaches, they’re exhausted and ready to collapse. But it’s all so very perfect.

It’s even more than perfect.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gorgeous Idiot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941912) by [lilith696](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilith696/pseuds/lilith696)




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